


Green

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-31
Updated: 2006-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson makes a new friend.  House is tickled pink.  Or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Media and especially Daisylily for the excellent betas.

It was an unusually warm Tuesday in late March, so they chose to have lunch outside. James Wilson was a third of the way through his chicken salad sandwich and halfway through a re-telling of a silly Outer Limits episode (killer bugs in the Arctic) when a long shadow fell across the table.

"Isn't this a cozy scene?"

Wilson looked up and almost jumped at how close the newcomer was standing. "House." A small piece of chicken fell from Wilson's sandwich, and he juggled awkwardly, trying to catch it. The blond man sitting across from him laughed lightly. "How's it going?"

"We had _lunch plans_. I was going to tell you how I managed to finish Force Canyon in Gunstar Super Heroes."

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry. I had two new patients and one whose remission stopped remitting"–the blond laughed again; House was stone-faced–"and I got caught up in everything. When Charlie here stopped by to ask about lunch, it was the first moment I'd had to breathe since this morning, and I just, um, forgot." House was still stone-faced, but Wilson pushed on. "By the way, have you met Charlie Lutz? He's the new orthopedist here, started a couple of months ago."

Charlie gave House a quick wave. "Hey. So, you're Dr. House? Your reputation, of course, precedes you, but I don't think we've met in person." He pushed back his chair slightly and gestured toward a third seat at the table. "Look, I'm sorry I took Jimmy away from you, but why don't you join us?"

"Right. Like I'm sharing my Game Boy secrets with you."

"House!" Wilson felt a flush rise up his neck. "Even just a light sprinkling of manners, please."

"I'm not the one who stood up a _friend_." House glared at Wilson, then turned on his heel and left.

Charlie waited until House was out of earshot, and then laughed again. "Some parts of that reputation are definitely true." He shook his head, still grinning. "Man, are you ever in the doghouse."

"It's fine. It'll blow over." Wilson sighed gently and resumed eating his sandwich.

After lunch, he spent fifteen minutes looking for House, finally finding him sitting in Coma Guy's room.

"Hey."

"Do you mind? You're interrupting my lunch date. He's not much of a conversationalist, but at least he's there when he's wanted." House took a vicious bite from his Reuben.

"I said I was sorry. Don't be a baby, and give me a chip." He leaned over, but House snatched the bag away.

"Nothing doing. Go get one from _Lutz_."

"What is up with you? Are you mad because I stood you up, or are you mad because I was having lunch with someone else?" House set his jaw and stared deliberately at the TV.

"You _are_ mad because I was with someone else. You know, unlike you, I do like people. Getting to know them is interesting. Conversation with them pleases me."

"I looked up Dr. Lutz. He's an idiot."

"He's not an idiot, which you'd know if you'd talk to him. And anyway, even idiots can be fun."

That got House to look at him. "Are you saying I'm not fun?"

"I'm saying you're an idiot. Give me a damn chip." After House reluctantly passed him one, Wilson took the second seat by Coma Guy's bed.

They watched TV together for a minute, before House piped up, "So what's Lutz's name again?"

"Charlie."

"His med school's a no-name, but his last hospital wasn't half bad. When did you meet him?"

"I don't know, a month ago maybe."

"Do you work with him a lot?"

"Here and there. He's been seeing a lot of large tumors lately, for some reason, and we end up getting called in on most of them."

"Was today your first lunch?"

Wilson put on his best sarcastically confused look and turned to House. "Why do I feel like I'm getting grilled by my wife? Oh, that's right, because I _am_."

House mouth twitched but he made no reply. Wilson continued, "Well, because you _have_ to know everything, here it is: we met about a month ago when he referred a patient with bone cancer. Nasty case, caught very late, secondary to lung cancer. That patient's already dead. We've had coffee once and lunch twice. We talk about patient care, office politics, sports, and TV shows. His turn-ons include –"

"That's enough. I don't need a life history."

"You apparently do." Wilson sighed and settled himself further down in his chair. "Charlie's a good guy. Give him a chance, and you'll find out for yourself."

"Yeah." House grabbed his cane and rose. "Gotta go. I got a page."

Perplexed, Wilson replied, "No, you didn't. I was sitting right here."

"It was a super secret page. Like the Bat signal, only significantly less visible."

"Ooookay. See you." Wilson rolled his eyes as House walked out the door.

"Watch out, Coma Guy," Wilson said under his breath, as he cleaned up the lunch mess House had left behind. "Hope you don't catch the madness too."

* * *

In the diagnostics conference room, House's expression was foul. He barely listened to the patient's symptoms, sent Foreman to run a series of tests, then stomped into his own office. Chase tilted his chair back, propped his feet on the conference table, and sent the tennis ball hurtling toward the ceiling. Cameron sighed and asked, "What is up with House? He's been in the worst mood since lunch."

In catching the ball, Chase happened to glance into the corridor. "Uh, oh." He brought his chair back to the floor and gestured toward the hall with his chin. "Looks like maybe Mummy's stepping out on Daddy."

Wilson and Charlie were passing by, and from his wide gestures, it looked like Charlie was in the middle of an amusing anecdote. He stopped directly in front of the conference room and made a rowdy "whoo whoo" train motion, which cracked Wilson up entirely.

Turning back toward the whiteboard, Cameron jumped to see House standing there. "I think the patient –" she began, but House stalked back to his office and flung the door shut. Without the pneumatic door closer, the slam would have reverberated all the way to the elevators.

* * *

Early on Wednesday, Wilson ran into Charlie in line for coffee in the cafeteria. After exchanging hellos, Charlie smiled and said, "Hey, the funniest thing happened to me this morning. I got to my parking space here at the hospital and overnight, it had been turned into a handicapped spot. It's really strange, too, because the spot's way on the other side from the elevators. I can't imagine a handicapped person actually wanting to park there." He shrugged with one shoulder. "But whatever, for the good of society, it's fine. It was a pain trying to find an unreserved space, though."

Wilson brought his hand to the back of his own neck and twisted it briefly. "Yeah, the weirdest things happen in that garage from time to time." He faced Charlie directly and gave a quick reassuring smile. "It was probably a mistake. I'll talk to Cuddy, and see if I can get it switched back."

Charlie paid for both their coffees and passed one to Wilson. "Don't put yourself out. I didn't mean to complain. It was funny, that's all."

"Yep, very funny." He tilted the coffee cup in farewell and headed to Cuddy's office.

Cuddy was intent on paperwork, but her assistant waved Wilson in anyway. _Just jump in and swim_, he thought, and launched into the story. "House, as kind of a prank, seems to have put up signs designating someone's assigned parking spot as a handicapped space. Can you get Maintenance to fix it?"

"Oy." She dropped her pen on her desk. "Like his parking space isn't already great." Frowning, she reached for the phone. "I'll call him in here."

"No!" He stopped and gave her his most winning smile. "It's just a little prank. I'll make sure he doesn't do it again."

"If I had a nickel for every time you've had to say that to me over the years…" She exhaled forcefully and shook her head. "But you do usually get him to stop, so I'll trust you." She hit the intercom button. "Please get me Maintenance."

"Thanks." Wilson let himself out.

* * *

  
He stopped by House's office a few minutes before noon. "Want to get lunch?"

"Sure." House started to rise. "You're not going to forget in the ten seconds it takes me to walk to the door, are you?"

"Nope."

"Good." House brushed past Wilson on his way out of the office.

Wilson fell into step behind him. "Parking space. Cute. Don't do it again."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," was what House said, but his eyes indicated something else entirely.

* * *

Thursday morning, Charlie caught Wilson in the hall as he was walking with House. "Hey, my space is back. Thanks for that."

"Yeah, it was just a mix-up." He cast a sidelong glance at House, whose nonchalance could not be more fake even if accompanied by an off-key whistle.

"Can you grab lunch with me today? I want to get your opinion on some test results."

"Sure."

"Great," Charlie said. "And nice to see you again – House?" Wilson turned, and House was gone.

Charlie laughed in amazement. "How can a guy with a cane move so quietly?"

"Hmm," Wilson replied.

* * *

The orthopedics department became a very interesting place to be over the next week. Charlie recounted it all to Wilson during a late afternoon break.

"So, early in the week, Steve comes in the lounge to take a break, and he can't get the channel changer to work. He takes out the batteries, puts them back, not it. He switches the batteries with some in a different device, doesn't work. Turns out someone locked out the channels. The only one we could get was this one that shows Spanish soap operas all day."

"Really." Wilson bit back a sigh. "That's funny."

"Then, I think it was yesterday, the magazine shows up. It's addressed to the head of our department, but her secretary won't touch it. Could hardly get the mail guy to put it down, though."

"What was it?" (He'd almost said, "Which?")

"FHM. You know, one of those 'it's not porn 'cause we're wearing underwear' ones. It was pretty gross; I don't blame Jane for not touching it. Lara was _livid_ that the subscription was in her name. Title too, on the label." Charlie pushed off the bench, still shaking his head. "Interesting times. See ya."

House was packing up to go when Wilson stopped by the office.

"Interesting things are happening over in the orthopedics department."

"Is that so?" House spotted his iPod and shoved it in his bag. "Bones seem kind of boring to me. Your really cool stuff tends to happen in the organs and soft tissues." He threw the bag over his shoulder and grabbed his cane. "Going to New York for the weekend; you'll have to fend for yourself. See you Monday." With a nod and a wave, House was gone.

* * *

  
Monday afternoon, Wilson had clinic duty. _Why is it that I don't just assign these hours to someone on my staff?_ he wondered as he opened the door to the clinic. That thought echoed when he saw the afternoon roster, and he groaned. There were three doctors this shift: him, Charlie, and House.

He was mentally reviewing the schedules of his team and trying to sneak back out the door when he ran headlong into Charlie.

"Whoa, there," Charlie said, and put a hand out to steady Wilson. "Oh, hi, Jimmy, you on clinic duty, too?"

Wilson took a step back and nodded amiably. "Yep." _Maybe House won't show, _he thought, but the gods were not smiling, and Cuddy escorted House in only twenty minutes late.

"Now," she said, talking as if to a child, "you don't have to be shy. I'm sure you'll know someone on the playground. Look, here's your friend Jimmy. Why don't you two go on the swings together?"

House opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off just as Charlie strolled up. "And here's Dr. Lutz. He's our clinic star, you know. Highest per-shift productivity of any doctor and still manages to get patient compliments reported to me all the time." Her look at House was pointed. "Compliments. You know, those things on the opposite side of the ledger from what you get?" One last glare and she was gone.

Charlie ducked his head and picked up the next patient chart. "Um," was all Wilson got out before House snatched the file from Charlie's hand and headed to Exam One.

It was the busiest clinic shift Wilson had ever seen. Cuddy had stoked House's competitive fires, and he was on a tear.

"Seriously? You're actually treating this many patients?" Wilson whispered to House in a rare moment when they were both at the check-in desk.

"Can't talk; saving lives. Jose Mendez?" In a flurry of white – where the hell had House gotten a lab coat? – House was gone again.

They were 30 minutes from shift end, with no major dustups, when the shoe dropped: Charlie caught a complex case. "Crap," muttered Wilson under his breath, as Charlie pulled him in for a consult. For a millisecond, he hoped maybe they could keep this from House, but it was no use. House had smelled the challenge from three exam rooms away.

To call the ensuing discussion between House and Charlie "heated" would be to call the center of the sun "heated." At two minutes in, Wilson escorted the patient to a different exam room. Returning to House and Charlie, he could hear their raised voices through the wall. He steeled himself and opened the door.

"If you would _look_ at the films the patient brought," Charlie was saying.

House brought his fingers to his face and propped his eyelids open comically wide, then turned to the film on the view box. Wilson stifled a chuckle, but Charlie was not amused.

"Just look at the femur."

"Ooh, the orthopedist thinks it's a bone problem. Shocking!"

"I didn't say it was a bone _problem_," snapped Charlie. "The femur gives you a clue that–"

"Guys," interrupted Wilson. "I think we need to keep our voices down. Patient confidentiality, right?"

The glares he got from House and Charlie were identical. _Twinsies_ popped into Wilson's head, and he had to purposefully force the ends of his mouth down to avoid smiling.

The tone temporarily became more civil, but the argument continued unabated. At five minutes in, Wilson gave up on trying to control the volume and had the patient moved to an exam room farther away. Eight minutes, and the only point of agreement was on admitting the patient, so he went ahead and asked Brenda, the nurse at the desk, to do that.

"What ward?" she asked.

"Pick one; just make sure we can find him later."

Cuddy hit the clinic about halfway through minute twelve. Wilson had stepped into the waiting room to rest his ears and saw her come in. The number of patients waiting had dropped by half; the ones that were left had solemn faces and huge eyes.

"I don't even want to know what it is," Cuddy began, "but it ends now." She strode into the exam room like a gladiator into the coliseum. Charlie shut up immediately; House required a few light jabs with her sword.

When she had everyone's full attention, Cuddy wasted no time. "I left a legal meeting for this. I don't have time to review the facts of the case. Dr. Wilson, do you know all the relevant information?"

He was trapped, and his stomach sank to the floor. "Yes."

"Were you here for all of the, ahem, discussion?"

"Yes." _When captured, give only your name, rank and serial number._

Cuddy stared at him. In his desire to escape, a fleeting thought: _Hands on your hips really is kind of girly_, and then Cuddy pounced with the question he'd been dreading. "Then what is your medical opinion?"

Charlie was peeved by the whole thing, clearly. Wilson wouldn't touch an analysis of House's expression with a ten-foot pole. In fact, like an eclipse, he couldn't even look at it head-on lest he scar his retinas. The floor sure was interesting, though.

His voice was surprisingly clear and sounded loud to his own ears. "I think Dr. Lutz's analysis is on track."

"We have a conclusion." Cuddy snatched the x-ray from the view box, stuck it in the patient's file, and thrust the file into Charlie's hands. "Dr. Lutz, your patient. Go get him admitted."

Wilson caught Charlie's gaze. "He's already getting processed for admission. Brenda will know where he is." Charlie nodded and left the room. House's back was turned; he was facing the empty view box. Cuddy glanced at him, then at Wilson, but said nothing before she left.

Things he could say flipped through Wilson's mind like the flashcards he'd used for Intro to Anatomy. He twisted his neck to the ease the tension in the _levator scapula_, and the flashcards stopped on "I'm sorry." He shoved the cards in his mental knapsack and sat on it. _This is ridiculous_, he decided. _We're grown men, professionals, and House has to know that he's not right 100 percent of the time. He can't expect me to back him up on everything, if my medical judgment –_

House's voice cut through Wilson's thoughts: "Stop debating yourself and be useful." House had moved; he was leaning against the exam table, staring at his hands.

"What?"

House looked up at Wilson, and for once Wilson couldn't read what was in his eyes.

"Be useful. Get me the next patient."

Wilson was relieved beyond all reason that House had let him go, and, embarrassed, he fled out of the room. In his haste, he stumbled against the check-in desk and the words spilled out haphazardly. "House. One. Patient. Complaints?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the patient will make a complaint," Brenda replied. "Maybe more than one."

"No." He took a second to breathe, and then continued in a hurried whisper. "House is in Exam Room One and needs his next patient. The people in the waiting room, what are their complaints?"

"Besides the noise?" He had to acknowledge her quip with a nod before she'd continue. "Next in line is that woman. Her baby has what sounds like croup."

"No babies." House didn't mind babies, but their parents were another matter. "Oh, and nothing that might require injections or stitching."

She gestured to a cheerleader type with sad eyes and, dear God, he hadn't known anyone but Cameron wore vests like that. "That girl might have PID."

"Nothing that requires an internal exam, and absolutely _no_ teenage girls." Inspiration! "Anybody been a jerk while they're waiting?"

Brenda smiled a happy smile. "Allergy Asshole. He was bitching from the minute he walked in the door. He has hay fever, and his regular doctor's in the South of France. He needs this cleared up immediately, because he's having dinner with the chairman of the board of his company tonight." _Like I give a crap_ was left unsaid. "He's in the gray suit over there."

"Perfect. Send him in to House."

She held the file back. "You'll take the baby and the girl?"

"Absolutely. Exam Three, send in the baby, then the girl."

His step was a little lighter as he walked away from the counter.

"Mrs. Roberts, you're with Dr. Wilson in Exam Room Three," Brenda called behind him. "Mr. Farthington," – her voice had changed, and the sickly sweetness cooled Wilson's blood – "Dr. House will see you in Exam Room One."

* * *

Over the next few days, things were surprisingly normal. House hooked up an Xbox to the oncology lounge TV and proceeded to thrash Wilson at Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Wilson had an oncology staff meeting, two actual consults with House, a fake clinic consult that engendered a lively debate on silicon vs. saline implants, a coffee and a lunch with Charlie, and, fortunately, no patient deaths.

Wilson was in his office, finishing some charting, when Charlie came in.

"You missed Lecture Series today," Charlie commented as he fell into a chair heavily.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I had planned to come, but at the last minute I had to mediate an argument between two of our nurses. They're both good; I can't afford to lose either of them, so I had to go through some rather extensive negotiations to get them working together again. Anyway, it was your first peer lecture here, right? How'd it go?"

"You will never believe this," Charlie said, leaning forward. "I can barely believe it. House was there, and he hissed at me! Actual hissing! I really don't like him casting aspersions on my work."

Wilson put down his pen and sat back in his chair. "That's probably not what he meant."

"He did it three times. That's exactly what he meant. Dr. Brown spoke before me, and his study was truly bad. His controls aren't rigorous enough, and his analytic techniques are at least two decades old. Plus his grammar sucks. I heard House doesn't suffer fools lightly, and if so, _that_ was the lecture he should have hissed. But not a sound. He didn't even correct Brown when he misquoted his own work during Q and A."

Charlie was restless, shifting. "Is it because of that argument in the Clinic? The patient happened to remind me of a case I'd just read about, and that's how I hit on the diagnosis. It wasn't any great genius."

"House is… House. He's the head of Diagnostics; surely you can see how he wouldn't like getting outmaneuvered."

"Outmaneuvered?" Charlie exploded out of the chair and began to pace. "How is doing what's best for the patient outmaneuvering him? And, crap, I forgot he was a damn department head. Yeah, critique from a department head, based in reality or not, looks really good for me."

Wilson shifted into his soothing persona without even thinking about it. "Charlie, it's fine. Like I said, House is House. His opinion's respected, but the staff certainly know his personality, too." He leaned forward to catch Charlie's eye. "Is your research solid?"

Charlie stopped pacing. "Yes."

"Write-up good?"

Charlie let out a short laugh. "Not to brag or anything, but yes."

"Has Lara read it? What does she think?"

"She said I should do the lecture to get peer input, and then it'd be ready to submit."

"Then you're fine." Wilson smiled reassuringly and got a smile from Charlie in return. "Look, I'll talk to House. I don't know what he's thinking, but I'll get him to lay off. And if there _is_ a warranted critique anywhere in there, I'll let you know that, too."

Charlie nodded. "Thanks. Strange day. Strange guy." He headed for the door but turned back to Wilson from the doorway. "I'm glad you're friends with him."

Wilson had turned back to his charting but looked up at that last comment. "Why?"

"Better you than me. Bye."

* * *

Wilson caught House at the hospital front desk at five minutes to five. "Hey, I need to talk with you about something."

House was zipping up his jacket, obviously on the way out. "Can it wait? Chase said Cuddy's looking for me, so I'm trying to get out –"

"House!" Cuddy's voice rang sharply across the lobby. "My office, now."

House's shoulders sank in resignation, and he said softly, "Damn, I was almost out too." He grabbed Wilson by the arm and began dragging him back across the lobby. "I'm bringing Wilson as a witness! And also as a chaperone, so don't you try anything!"

"You could leave me out of this," said Wilson as he tried to pull his arm back. "I'm sure it's got nothing to do with me."

"You never know," House replied, and tightened his grip. "Besides, you cost me valuable time in the race out the door. You owe me."

"I owe you?" Wilson started to protest, but they were already at Cuddy's office.

Cuddy's eyes blazed at House, but she seemed mildly disconcerted to see Wilson standing there as well. "You were serious about the witness?" Not waiting for a reply, she focused again on House and continued, "Fine. What happened at the Lecture Series today?"

"Lecture Series? There were only two of them today. Can you really call two of anything a series?" House had switched his cane to his left hand, and was flipping his right hand over and back repeatedly. Strange.

"Enough," Cuddy replied. _It's an imaginary yo-yo_, Wilson realized.

"I thought you'd be pleased. First lectures I've attended all year, and I did it just because you asked me to. Didn't even get to drop Clinic hours." House's hand went back; his fingers splayed and held, and then came together again. _Now he's walking the dog._

"Right," barked Cuddy. House's hand stilled, and Wilson snapped back to attention. "I send you in to give Dr. Brown a kick in his goddamn pants, and you end up heaping your contempt on Dr. Lutz. Lutz's article is a good piece of work. They're sending it to _JAMA_, for Christ's sake."

"Wait. You just said to go to the lectures. You _wanted_ me to cut down Brown's work?"

Cuddy's impatience radiated from her. "Of course I did. He's putting out articles that are shit, and it's making this hospital look bad. The other senior doctors hint to him, but they won't directly confront him about this. I've met with him three times but even being the Dean of Medicine, what could a 'young lady' really know about medical research? Brown hates you, but you have a penis, so I thought maybe he'd listen to you.

"But instead of helping the hospital out by using your scorn for good instead of evil, you chose to unjustly disparage a decent piece of research, for your own bizarre personal reasons."

House was looking thoughtful.

"Who told you what I did during the lectures? Did Lutz come and whine?"

"I haven't seen Dr. Lutz all day. I have had visits from several of the other attendings; they do report to me, you know."

Cuddy leaned over her desk; Wilson glanced toward the ceiling to avoid staring down her cleavage. House made no such gesture. "Look," Cuddy continued, "if you don't care about the hospital, think about this: acting this way makes you look stupid. You look like a fool who can't tell good research from bad. You and I both know that's not the kind of reputation you want."

House stiffened, and his eyes began to shift around the room, as they always did when truths hit too close to home. "There are some valid concerns with some of what Lutz said."

The argument won, Cuddy's posture relaxed a bit. She pushed back from the desk, which allowed Wilson to bring his gaze back from the ceiling, and then sat in her chair.

"I'm sure there could be something. So, you are going to actually read Dr. Lutz's article and provide an honest written critique."

House shifted his cane from hand to hand. "It'll take time. I need two hours off Clinic duty."

"One hour off, and you'll use that hour in a sit-down with Dr. Brown, telling him what you really think of his work."

The smile on House's face was pure satisfaction. It wasn't every day a Cuddy-sanctioned idiot-disemboweling presented itself. He nodded and left without a goodbye.

Wilson lingered for another minute. "Did anybody take House's criticism, as it were, seriously?"

Cuddy replied pensively, "A few might have. It really has been a long time since House attended the Lecture Series, so with a rare appearance, it might carry a little weight. But Dr. Lutz is backed up by his department head, so _I_ don't take it seriously." She gave it another moment's thought. "You know what I'll do? I'll start a rumor House had a fever today and was delusional. People will have no problem believing that."

Wilson laughed, and Cuddy smiled.

"Go home, Dr. Wilson. Have a nice evening."

* * *

The next several days passed quietly. House's critique of Charlie's article had been well-reasoned and fair. His suggestions for tightening the introduction improved it considerably, to everyone's satisfaction. Dr. Brown began avoiding not just the diagnostics department but that entire wing, but no one lost sleep over that.

Between appointments one day, Wilson headed to Charlie's office.

"Got a minute?"

"Just a couple, then I have surgery, but come on in." Charlie waved Wilson to a chair.

"I wanted to see how things are going in orthopedics lately."

"Well, I told you about those couple of new cases."

Wilson crossed his legs and smiled. "No, I mean entertainment-wise. Any new magazine subscriptions?"

It took Charlie a second to catch on.

"Oh, like that FHM, you mean." Charlie rolled his eyes. "I still don't know why House did that to Lara, but oh well. I certainly have firsthand experience that if you get on his bad side, anything can happen."

Wilson laughed briefly. If Charlie thought House had been targeting the department head, Wilson was not going to disabuse him of the notion.

"There's only been one thing," continued Charlie. "Not sure if this is even a prank, but House did have a dozen pizzas delivered to us at lunch yesterday, out of the blue." He shrugged. "We ate them, and Jane got Carl in bookkeeping to re-classify the charges to House's department. No harm, no foul."

Smiling, Wilson shook his head and got up to leave. Charlie reached out across the desk and gestured for him to stop.

"Hey, a friend of mine had something come up, and he gave me two tickets he didn't need to a Princeton game. College hoops, not Big Ten or anything, but should still be fun. Do you want to go?"

"Sure! Sounds good. When is it?"

"This Friday."

Wilson's face fell. "Oh. I already have dinner plans Friday with, ah, someone."

"House, I presume? Well, you definitely can't break that date." Charlie chuckled. "It's OK; you and I'll make it another time." After a quick check of the clock, he continued, "Hey, surgery time. I'll catch you later, alright?" He popped Wilson on the arm as he left. Wilson laughed and followed him out.

* * *

The Friday night dinner with House was relaxing, even fun. Wilson made dinner – a new stir-fry recipe that turned out well. House "made" dessert. "Ben and Jerry's a la House," he proclaimed, as he squirted a ridiculous amount of chocolate syrup on each of their ice creams.

They were shooting the breeze, having finished dinner but not yet started the movie. Wilson was on his third beer and his second bowl of ice cream.

"No, no, no, no," he was saying to House, emphasizing the point with his spoon. "Charlie says, and I concur, that _Night of the Lepus_ is _the_ definitive giant killer rabbit movie."

"_Charlie_ says?"

"Yeah." Wilson dug out another bite and was licking the spoon when he noticed the furrow in House's brow. "What?"

"So _Night of the Lepus_ is one of Charlie's turn-ons then?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You said that you and Charlie talk about, and I quote, patient care, office politics, sports, and TV shows. _Night of the Lepus_ is none of those, so it must be one of his turn-ons."

"Well, it's been three weeks since I gave you that list. We've moved on since then. We've talked about, let's see…" Wilson dropped the spoon back in the bowl and brought his finger to his lip in a mock thoughtful pose. "Art. National politics. Movies. And the CRAZY CRAP you keep pulling on him."

"Well, isn't that sweet? You and your gal pal have so many things to chat about. Your cell bill must be humongous."

"Don't get off track. We're talking about you."

"No, we're not." House pivoted out of his chair. "You can go now."

"I'm not done with my ice cream."

"Yes, you are." House jerked the ice cream bowl out of Wilson's hands and started for the kitchen. "I'll do the dishes; you can let yourself out."

Wilson followed him. "No, I doubt you'll do the dishes. You'll probably just leave them there for me to do the next time I come back."

"Probably." The dishes clattered into the sink. House straightened his shoulders and leaned against the kitchen island. The silence was unnerving, and his stare said nothing but _go_.

Wilson mirrored House's lean but against the refrigerator.

"What is going on in your head? We need to talk about this."

"No," House replied. "No, we really don't. I know you periodically like to indulge the fourteen-year old girl you have living inside you, but I'm not interested in a long heart-to-heart on my feelings, your feelings, and, for Christ's sake, Charlie's feelings." He pushed past Wilson back into the living room.

"Yes, because you're not being juvenile."

"At least my inner teenager is a _boy_."

"Fine."

Wilson stormed out and was halfway home when he realized he'd left his jacket behind. Screw it, he thought, let him keep the damn thing.

On Monday when Wilson came into work, his jacket was hanging neatly on the back of his office chair. It even looked dry-cleaned. "Maybe all is forgiven," he murmured.

When he next passed the diagnostic conference room, he nodded briefly to House and got a small smile and nod in return. He had heard they'd caught an interesting case over the weekend, so he wasn't surprised not to see House the rest of that day.

Going home that night was the first time Wilson had picked up his jacket. Odd, one of the pockets was heavy and bulging. He peeked in and saw a glint of pink. What now? Dumping the pocket out, he found a punch device, dozens of huge pink rhinestones, and a note.

"Thought about Bedazzling your jacket for you," he read, "but I wouldn't want to deprive a girl of the chance to pursue one of her favorite hobbies."

"So, _not_ forgiven, then," Wilson sighed.

He punched the rhinestones into the back of a legal pad, forming a heart shape. After considering a moment, he signed it, "XOXO, Greg" and left it in Cameron's mailbox on his way out.

Wednesday morning, an appointment ended early – when you actually have good news to report, they often do. Wilson's feet took him automatically toward House's office until he caught himself, turned, and headed to orthopedics.

Wilson started speaking before he was even fully through Charlie's door.

"Hey, did you catch the game last…" His voice trailed off, because he was awe-struck by the mess on Charlie's desk. The desk was covered, in a layer at least two inches thick, in confetti. Clearly, a variety pack – Wilson spotted shamrocks, hearts, storks, and champagne glasses, in addition to stars and sequins.

Charlie picked out a tiny grim reaper and held it up to Wilson. "Nice, this is nice." He continued dumping confetti into his trash, stopping occasionally to pull out an item that actually did belong on the desk.

"You think House did this?" Skeptical expression from Charlie. "OK, stupid question."

"Look, Jimmy, you're a good guy. I like you. But I don't need this."

Wilson was rubbing the back of his neck. "It's gonna be fine. I'll talk to House."

"Didn't you say that last week? And the week before?"

"Sometimes – Sometimes it takes a while to get through."

"He _keyed_ my _car_. Or caned it, probably." On that, Charlie's thrust was so hard that the confetti flew past the can and onto the carpet.

"You don't know that was him."

Charlie ignored that. "I can't believe it took me so long to figure out just why House was doing this to me. Now I'm trying to decide whether he's your boyfriend or your rottweiler."

"My what?"

The trash can thumped onto the desk. "Rottweiler. Breed that is fiercely intent on, and protective of, its owner. Won't give anyone else the time of day and becomes insanely jealous when the owner's attention is distracted. Yeah, we can go with that."

"It's…" Wilson didn't actually know what to say next, so he trailed off.

Charlie sighed. "Sorry, I just don't need this. I have a lot going on right now. Charlie and the boys just moved in, and my two girls are having some issues with the change. We're trying to work through the whole blended family, step-parent thing, and it's not going as well as it could."

"I didn't know – you didn't mention – wait. Charlie?"

"Yes, my partner's name is Charlie, too. Vaguely narcissistic, isn't it? We even sort of look alike. Put us in matching t-shirts and jeans – but don't distract me." Charlie threw up his hands, in a gesture halfway between _halt_ and _I give up_. "I feel stupid even saying this, but this is too difficult. With what's going on at home, I can't handle any more drama in my life right now."

Wilson opened his mouth and then closed it again.

Charlie turned back to the work of clearing his desk. "Get House to stop, and we can have lunch again. Until then, I'll see you around."

_Great_. Wilson lifted his eyes to the ceiling before replying, "Sure." He knocked the door frame on the way out, imagining it was House's head.

* * *

Wilson avoided House over the next few days, even as he argued vehemently with him over and over in his head. On about variation 53, when at last Wilson no longer sounded like a smothered husband or a pissy little girl, he knew it was time to confront House in the real world.

He found him alone in his office, bouncing a ball off the wall. Donna McGill, the doctor whose office was on the other side of the wall, had requested, and received, authorization to add two inches of soundproofing. She still complained about the noise.

"You need to leave Charlie alone."

House bit his lower lip as he executed a complicated wall-ceiling bounce. "Me? What reason would I have to do anything to the great Dr. Charlie Lutz?"

Wilson's arms were folded. He'd decided this answer by Variation 27. Avoid questions about their friendship, no matter how lightly flung; focus on Charlie.

"I don't know what kind of bug you have up your butt, but this is ridiculous. You need to stop this vendetta. Charlie's a good guy, and if you'd take half a minute to talk to him, you'd see that."

"Don't need an orthopedic consult; don't have a reason to talk to him." He sat upright quickly and looked directly at Wilson. "Unless you think he'd trade clinic hours with me. He can take all of mine this year, and I'll take all of his in, say, 2015."

"You have to cut him a break. He's got a lot of stress in his life right now."

House scoffed, but Wilson continued, "He and his partner just moved in together, and –"

"Partner? Not girlfriend?"

Hmm, this hadn't come up in any of the variations. "Yeah. And?"

"Is Charlie gay?"

"It seems so, yes."

House flung himself back in his chair and considered the ceiling for a second.

"Oh." He looked back at Wilson and waved a hand in dismissal. "Then go have lunch with him. Knock yourself out. If you get to the cafeteria before noon, they might still have some chocolate pudding."

"What? Because Charlie's gay, you'll let me be friends with him?" Damn, broke his own rule. Couldn't be helped.

"Yep." House bent to turn on his iPod. Wilson put out a hand to stop him.

"I don't get this. What are you talking about?"

"You have my blessing. Go. Have fun." House picked up a medical journal from his desk and started to flip through it. Both his expression and tone were open and easy, with not a trace of sarcasm. It killed Wilson. Hands on hips now, he struggled not to scream.

"Why are you acting like this? What is so different, with Charlie being gay?"

House looked up at him over the journal. "Well, obviously, he's just making a pass at you, so nothing to worry about, right?"

"He is not making a pass at me!"

"Suuure he's not."

"You think I'll take him up on it?"

House snorted. "Irrelevant. It's his intentions that matter, not yours. I know how to handle your groupies. Bros before hos, right?" He held out his fist.

Wilson resisted the urge to slap the fist away and stormed out of House's office.

* * *

When two more weeks passed without incident, Charlie was finally convinced that House was going to leave him alone. He and Wilson had a peaceful lunch on a Tuesday, with House going so far as to say hello to Charlie as he stole Wilson's chips in passing. Charlie invited Wilson for dinner at his house that Friday.

Charlie's neighborhood was pleasant and clearly family-oriented: good-sized houses on half-acre lots, street lamps, and wide sidewalks. Walking up Charlie's walk, Wilson counted two bikes, a tricycle and a push car. He shifted the bottle of wine to his other arm and rang the bell.

Wilson heard several little feet running, and then Charlie's voice behind the door. "Kids, kids, come on, let me open it up."

As the door swung inward, Wilson saw first a girl of about seven, then a boy slightly shorter than her, a preschooler, and a toddler. They were all bouncing and grinning, and he was reminded of a cousin who owned four extremely friendly dogs.

Charlie's face was lit up as well. "You made it – great. Directions were OK?"

Wilson nodded, and Charlie turned down to the kids. "Becky, Jeff, let him in the door."

"Hi," said the girl, and turn and ran. The boy threw a "hi" over his shoulder as he followed her out of the foyer. The preschooler was clinging to Charlie's leg, but the toddler was waving furiously as he shouted, "Hi! Hi! Hi!"

"Hello there," Wilson laughed, and waved back.

"Where's my boy?" a woman's voice called. When she stepped into the foyer, Wilson gave a small start. She looked a lot like Charlie: same shade of blond hair, same shape to the face, close to the same height. The woman stooped to pick up the toddler, and then smiled at Wilson.

Charlie's voice was proud as he introduced them. "Jimmy, this is my partner, Charlie."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jimmy. Hope you like lasagna."

"Yes, I do. And, hey, then I guess it's a good thing I decided on red." He passed her the wine, which she immediately held far away from the twisting, grasping toddler in her arms.

"Thanks. Steffi, your nuggets are ready. Let's go back to the kitchen." Steffi eyed Wilson suspiciously, but consented to release Charlie's leg and be led to the kitchen.

As they left, Wilson turned back to Charlie.

"You weren't kidding about looking a lot like your wife."

"Not wife. Partner." Charlie shrugged sheepishly. "We both went through some pretty bad marriages, and we're not doing that again. 'Girlfriend' just sounds juvenile to me, so we're going with 'partner.'" Confession over, he perked up a bit. "And no, I wasn't kidding about us looking alike. Sometimes I get a weird 'clone' feeling about it, especially with the whole having the same name thing. I've tried to talk her into using her full name, Charlotte, but then she starts calling me Chuck, and I have to drop the whole subject."

Charlie came back into view, with spatula in hand. "Why are you still entertaining our guest in the foyer? Bring him in, let him get comfortable." She headed back to the kitchen.

Wilson caught Charlie's arm as he turned toward the living room. "Thanks for inviting me tonight. Your family seems great. And, uh, by the way, if House asks, you're gay."

"Umm, okay. Why?"

Wilson's eyes closed and his face contorted briefly. "Because he's insane."

Charlie laughed, and clapped Wilson on the back.

"Fair enough. You want a beer?"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Happy State of Affairs: Green, the Slash Remix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/64998) by [hwshipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/hwshipper)




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